


The Recipe for Love

by Anika_Ann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempt at humour, Bad Cooking, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Reader Needs a Hug, Reader-Insert, Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, and possibly a punch in his face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21781285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: Also known as ‘The Making of Love’.The words Bucky said were nothing but innocent, truly. Except they wormed their way into your brain and now you’re worried you’re not enough.A proper woman should be able to cook for her man.Too bad you’re a walking kitchen disaster; you’ll just have to try in favour of your relationship with Steve flourishing, won’t you? What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 162





	The Recipe for Love

**Author's Note:**

> I’d say I attempted this to be short and it turned out longer than excepted, but seeing as that is a recurring theme with my fics, it seems ridiculous to point it out. Heh, done it anyway. 
> 
> Also, due to unbearable fluff in this fic, I consider it my annual Christmas fic, because my brain is too in scrambles and there’s no way I’m gonna write anything else that would actually be Christmas-themed. 
> 
> Enjoy :))

He had been gone for a week now, in the middle of nowhere in Bulgaria, while you stuck to your paper-pushing as you sometimes jokingly put it. And the truth was, you were truly missing him.

You always did.

It had been a year since your occasional meetings in the hallways of SHIELD’s headquarters, where you worked as a part of the surveillance and decryption team, turned from small talks to something much more. That charming smile of his could get him just about anywhere; and your heart was no exception, letting Steve Rogers in with a welcoming drumroll and fireworks, because he was such a gentle soul despite what he had been through that you let yourself fall in love embarrassingly easily.

Steve surely didn’t seem to mind, working his way deeper and deeper into your heart, owning it all and giving you his own in return.

He was everything you could ever dream of; not a perfect man perhaps, but an undeniably _good_ one.

You were far from a perfect woman; however, Steve was always the one to tell you that you were perfect _for him,_ making it so clear that you couldn’t but believe him. When he had offered to move in together only four months into your relationship, you hadn’t even hesitated, reassured by his confidence in what you two had. It didn’t even seem too fast, considering how seriously he was meant to take a relationship given the time he had been born into.

Considering all of this, there was little space left for doubt; you hadn’t been so happy in a very long time.

And then Bucky Barnes opened his big fat mouth and messed it all up; not that you could blame him, because he was only being honest, giving you the piece of information without a single drop of foulness in his intention.

“So, Steve’s coming back,” he threw into a conversation you had fallen into after a random encounter (or was it? With him, you were never sure _anything_ was random) and you felt your lips automatically curl up in a smile.

“So I heard. He should be here in the late afternoon, but he told me I shouldn’t expect him home till eight. He even asked me not to wait up for him here,” you said, not finding anything strange about it.

Steve was considerate – one could never tell how long the debriefings would get, so sitting in the office chair, waiting possibly for endless hours, that was simply something he wouldn’t allow.

Plus, he apparently enjoyed coming home and finding you there, which was more than okay with you – you could understand. Home tended to feel warmer when there was someone waiting for you; when he could, not being away on the mission god knew where, he would make sure to wait for you as well. It was the sweetest thing to come back home to him after a long day; imagining being on a mission for a week or longer, it must have felt like heaven.

Bucky chewed on his apple, nodding thoughtfully. “Smart man. What you’re cooking?”

You froze, only your eyelids fluttering in confusion at the question, to which Bucky was completely oblivious.

“Huh?”

“Pasta? Steak? Oh, god, casserole? Man, I would kill for a casserole… hell, _any_ homecooked meal…” he muttered under his breath, causing your blood turn to ice.

A homecooked meal.

Hell yeah, that sounded nice. A perfect thing to come home to as well… except that never happened to Steve. You always… ordered take-out, for very valid reason. You were a terrible cook. Granted, Steve never complained, so you never gave it too much thought.

Perhaps you should have? To be fair, you had informed Steve about your skills in the kitchen on like date number two. He had admitted with a sheepish grin that he probably wasn’t much better and you laughed it off.

As it replayed in your head, you cleared your throat awkwardly, your smile at Bucky straining.

“Right.”

“Christ, I need to get one. It used to be a real deal-breaker, you know? You find a girl, you make sure she knows how to make a good casserole before even considering marrying her…” he sighed regretfully, eyeing his snack with a slight disappointment as if he was hoping it could magically transform into a four-course meal. “Times definitely changed. Man, sometimes I wish I lived back in the forties…”

Ignorant of your inner turmoil, he stalked away, mumbling under his breath. 

You stood there in the middle of the hallway, utterly dumbstruck and horrified.

A _deal-breaker? Before marrying her? A good casserole?_

A horrible realization struck you, your heart pounding in your chest with rising panic.

Steve moving so quickly in your relationship.

The others mocking you when the proposal would come.

You both always laughing it off, because it was too soon.

 _Was_ it though? You had utter belief in your relationship; there was no one else. For you, you couldn’t imagine anyone but Steve as your future partner. You loved him more than anyone else in your life, ever. He was _it._

But… were you _it_ for him? You must have been so far from what he used to dream of… so far from a good housewife and you prided in it or at least never felt ashamed of it. You had other qualities, important too, and you focused more on your career path, which was alright, but… was it the same for Steve?

All of sudden, the doubts that had only bothered you once or twice in your darkest moments resurfaced. Who would want a woman like you? You couldn’t even fix a decent meal, for god’s sake! What kind of a message it sent to a man from the thirties, forties?

So far, Steve had never complained… but what if it would become the thing standing between you two and the happy future? What if… what if Steve never even _considered_ marrying you in certain time horizon, because you he could barely imagine you as his wife? He was taking your relationship so seriously, it probably wouldn’t be so surprising if the proposal came any day now – it would be a proper thing to do, according to the conventions of time he had been raised in. But so far, there hadn’t even been a hint, not a mention.

What if… what if you had never had a conversation about it, because it would never be on the table? What if… what if who you were wasn’t enough…?

Springing from your spot in a speed you didn’t know you could possess, ache in your chest, you strode towards your desk to pack up your stuff.

You were done for the day.

You had a fucking meal to prepare.

-.-

You were an analyst.

You could analyse hours and hours of footage in a way that took people’s breath away; even Steve’s.

You were a highly capable, efficient and dare to say a very intelligent person.

And you couldn’t figure out a fucking recipe.

Finding the recipe was alright. So was the shopping. But the _cooking._

“I am a rational person. I analyse things. I am a capable person,” you chanted under your breath over and over like a mantra, putting the roasting pan in the oven. The result of your hard work looked… interesting, but you had faith (you _prayed)_ that once it would be done, it would turn out okay… -ish.

“Nailed it…” you mumbled as the door of the oven clicked shut, simultaneously with another door opening.

A wide smile spread on your lips as Steve’s keys hit the counter.

“Evening, sweet,” came his voice from the hall and you rushed to greet him, both excited to get your hands on him after a week and utterly relieved to see with your own eyes that he was not severely injured. “I’m home!”

You nearly stumbled over your feet as you finally spotted him, simple t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans; a little miracle in your apartment. He welcomed you with a tiredness and light to his eyes and curiosity to his smile.

“Hey!” you welcomed him breathlessly and all but jumped into his arms.

He chuckled, engulfing you in his embrace, his face nuzzling your hair.

“Hi,” he whispered softly, placing a chaste kiss to your temple. “What smells so good?

You grinned up at him, replying with pride. “Casserole.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped nearly to his hairline in surprise. “You cooked?”

Too delighted to see him, you took no offence – to be fair, he had a point _and_ his tone danced on the edge of amusement and fondness, so you didn’t even bother to swat his chest with your hand.

“Shut up, smartass… and kiss me,” you pleaded, peeking at his face from under your eyelashes, too aware of what it did to him.

His smile grew wider and softer on the edges, before he obliged happily, his lips meeting yours in a tender slow kiss. He captured your lower lip between his, pulling at it playfully, while his fingers drifted into your hair, cradling your head as if you were the most precious thing he had ever held in his hands.

You sighed into his mouth contentedly, sinking deeper into the kiss, your body melting against his, nearly blending in one. Your palms travelled from his chest to his shoulders and impressive biceps, caressing and gripping when he grazed your lips with his teeth, causing your belly to catch fire.

Withdrawing reluctantly to catch your breath, Steve moved to continue his ministrations on your cheek and your jaw, drawing a breathless chuckle from you.

“I’m so happy to have you home in one piece,” you cooed, capturing his lips with yours again, blissed out.

“I am happy to _be home_ ,” he breathed into your mouth. “I missed you.”

Life had a funny way of showing its imperfections. Because a second after that statement, Steve’s stomach made its own.

Blood flushed Steve’s face and you snorted unattractively, retreating for a bit.

“I missed you too. Come on…”

He discarded his shoes at the door before led him through the living room and the kitchen, hand in hand.

“So… why did you decide to cook? Is it… any special occasion?” he pried carefully and it struck you how it actually had to freak him out.

His girlfriend _cooking_ freaked him out. What the hell did that say about you? Swallowing the uneasy feeling of insecurity and shame that rose to your throat, you shrugged it off.

“I just thought you might appreciate a homecooked meal for once. I mean, god knew what you had to eat on the mission…”

Frankly, you weren’t sure that your creation would be any better than the horror you imagined Steve had had to force into his mouth, but hey, you had tried.

Using your hand as a leverage, he pulled you back to his embrace, resting his backside against the counter. One arm sneaking around your waist, his eyes searched an explanation as they locked with yours.

You charmed a smile for him, pretending you weren’t suddenly feeling shaky on your feet. What if you had messed it up?

“Can’t say I don’t. Just surprised, is all. How were you doing the whole week, mm?” he asked and you instantly started going on about your (for once) uneventful days, grateful he let the topic be.

The time seemed to fly, your set alarm announcing that the meal should be ready. You kissed Steve’s nose, twisting out of his arms.

He went to set the table, his confusion apparently returning and you followed him with the pan in your oven-mitted hands.

Serving the dinner appeared to be easy enough and you couldn’t help the sense of pride despite the fact that the result of your efforts didn’t look perfect. 

Steve dived in first and you, afraid of watching his face if the casserole didn’t taste as good as it was supposed to, fixated your gaze on your own plate and started eating as well.

The taste was… _peculiar_ to say at least.

Nope, scratch that, the food tasted… bad. Like… your-taste-buds-possibly-hurt bad. You couldn’t put your finger on it, you were not a cook after all, but… the sensation in your mouth was downright terrible.

Your stomach twisted in a tight knot; you liked to think it was because of the disappointment in yourself and not the food.

Yet, Steve didn’t utter a word, apparently deciding to please you and look grateful. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, your fingers curled around the cutlery with force.

It took you about a minute to gather the courage and look up at Steve’s expression. He sent you a brief smile and the pit in your stomach deepened. What a brave man he was. And he was doing it for you.

He adored you. He was suffering though this, because he just wanted not to upset you. And you couldn’t even _cook for him_ for once. Tears stung in your eyes as you slowly set the cutlery down, inhaling shakily as your heart hammered in your ribcage painfully, anxiety crushing your chest.

Steve followed your example and stopped eating, his brown furrowing in concern when he saw your expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly and you gulped against the lump in your throat, shaking your head and chuckling wryly.

“Me? How are _you_ not on the floor yet, dying of food poisoning?” you questioned, your voice cracking at the end, much to your embarrassment.

It was his turn to swallow nervously, guilt crossing over his face since he had led you on.

“Hey now, it’s not that bad…”

“My taste buds might be scarred, Steve,” you noted coldly, icy fist closing around your heart as you pushed your chair back, fleeing to the living room to sink into the couch.

You covered your face with your palms, hiding your tears as you heard Steve follow.

 _“I can’t even make a casserole,”_ you mumbled into your hands. _“Christ…“_

You more sensed Steve moving around than heard him as he crouched in front of you, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrists to pull your hands away. You stubbornly kept them in place, terrified to look at him.

The feeling of shame at your incapability, embarrassment about your outburst, fear of Steve thinking less of you... it all mingled in you and made it hard for you to breathe. Worries that you were not enough to keep him happy, horrified that he might stay with you out of pity, just like he had been ignoring the disgusting taste in favour of your feelings, because he was simply that good of a man--

The pad of his thumb traced the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, coaxing you into giving in; he wouldn’t use blunt force on you, as much as he possibly wanted to. No, he was too gentle for that.

The thought caused the sobs finally escape your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Steve whispered, panic finding its way to his pleading voice. “Look at me. Come on, sweet. So it didn’t work out, it’s not like a five-star restaurant meal. It’s not the end of the world.”

You sobbed again, stupidly and very much _irrationally_ thinking it just might.

But it wasn’t, right? People were falling out all the time. Relationships didn’t always work out. It would _not be the end of the world_ if Steve decided you were… not the right partner for him.

Your shook your head, sighing simultaneously with another sob choking you.

Resigned, you let Steve to look at your damp face, but couldn’t meet his gaze. One of his hands let go, wiping your tears instead; yet, you bullheadedly stared at the carpet under his feet. He caught you chin between two fingers angling your head slightly so you faced him.

The alarmed expression on his face only added to your overwhelming inner turmoil.

“What’s all the tears about?” he wondered, bewildered. “Why would one failed meal matter so much?”

 _Failed._ What a fitting expression.

“I-I know it‘s- it’s s-stupid,” you hiccupped, averting his gaze again. You faced the ceiling, blinking in attempt to stop the stupid tears. “Fo-fo-for god’s s-sake! I don’t ev-even know why I’m- I’m _crying_ over it.” _You were most definitely **not** crying over a fucking casserole, it was about something much, much worse, but you couldn’t spit **that** out._ “It’s just- Buc-bucky said— and- and I-”

Steve's sigh was weary as it interrupted your senseless stuttering.

“What did that stupid piece of jerk say to you?”

You quickly shot Steve a glance as his tone carried a certain amount of menace. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault!

“It’s- it’s not im-important-“

“Seeing as you’re upset about it, I beg to differ,” he grumbled, but his tone softened. “You can tell me, sweet. Please?”

Damn his interrogation methods! Your heart ached as he begged you to explain what was wrong. You debated yourself for only a short moment, the determination to keep your mouth shut breaking.

You inhaled a shaky breath, fixating your gaze at your joined hands.

“A good wife,” you started, quickly realizing your mistake. “Not that I want to get married!” _Nope, even worse._ “Not that I _don’t want to_ get married! It’s just… oh god, this is so stupid… he said that a proper woman should be able to make a good casserole. That it’s kind of a… a deal-breaker.”

It didn’t ease the pressure in your ribcage, no; Steve seemingly didn’t feel any better with your admission either. Apparently, you stunned him into silence. The air was heavy, suffocating your lungs and you could feel your heart slowly breaking.

 _“A deal-breaker,”_ Steve echoed dully and you closed your eyes, awaiting his reaction. “I see,” he muttered, rising to his feet and planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

He caressed the top of your head and strode away from you as if he was on a mission, heading straight to the bedroom. You heard the wardrobe opening and some shuffling.

_Oh god._

Panicked he was determined to end this relationship right here and now, you sobbed again, running your fingers through your messy damp hair, scrambling to your feet as well.

“S-steve?” you called out shakily, but before you could follow his path, his voice responded.

“Just getting you a handkerchief, sweet.”

Truth to his word, his large figure soon appeared in the room, coaxing and leading you to sit back as he handed you the cloth. He nestled on the floor again, sitting back on his heels, letting you blow your nose in an unladylike manner, stealing one of your hands just to draw gentle circles on its back.

All of sudden, you felt humiliated even more. Of course, Steve wouldn’t just pack his bag and leave. Not without talking first at least.

Wiping the tip of your nose and drying the last ridiculous tears, you watched him as he observed you, curious and searching in your face – what for, you couldn’t quite figure out.

The corners of his lips rose in a soft supportive smile and you couldn’t find words to express how ashamed you were for your outburst; for your incapability to cook as well, _yes_ , but the tantrum…

Steve’s fingers tucked your hair behind your ear so he could see you better, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Better?”

You only nodded frantically, averting his gaze once more, unable to face the kindness in his cerulean eyes. It was why it startled you when he spoke again.

“You’re right,” he exclaimed and your head instantly snapped back to him, finding his features subtly twisted into a serious expression. “Bucky was right. It was a true deal-breaker. You apparently can’t make a casserole.”

You gulped, well-aware that he was about to make a different point. Steve wasn’t one to kick you while you were already low. Still; the reminder stung, bluntly thrown between you. Not even the twinkle in his eyes fixed the nudge at your conscience.

“But you can make me smile,” he offered gently and your heart felt warmer, your shoulders losing some of the tension in them. “Hell, you make me _laugh.”_

At that, you managed to charm a smile for him. A little strained, but a smile nonetheless.

“Look at ‘dat pretty smile on such swell dame,” he drawled, this time drawing a chuckle from you as his accent peeked through.

Gosh, how you loved this man. Allowing yourself to relax as you recognized that whatever crisis you had thought was on didn’t exist.

You covered his hand on yours with your other, squeezing. “Thank you, Stevie. I’m sorry for-“

“You also make this apartment a home,” he interrupted you warmly, cocking his head to side. “You make me feel things, _want_ things I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore. You make me…”

Stunned into silence by his sudden declaration of love, tears stinging in your eyes once more, this time for a different reason, you could only watch and listen, your heart speeding up in anticipation of… _something,_ as one of his eyebrows rose, a mischievous quirk to his lips.

“You make me want to do filthy things, just by _being_ you, walking by. You make me want to join in when I come home to you singing and dancing around the counter-“

 _“Oh my god,”_ you whined, feeling the frantic heat speeding up your cheeks, and went to cover your face with your palms in embarrassment, but Steve’s hands locked around yours stubbornly, so you just squeezed your eyes shut like a child thinking that such action would hide them from everyone’s sight. A choked chuckle escaped your lips, followed by Steve’s own.

He brought your joined hands to his lips, planting a kiss on your skin.

Your brain and heart melted at the gentle gesture, full of devotion. Your glassy eyes found his, inviting and shining with something your mind didn’t seem to be able to grasp.

“You make me greedy and… maybe a bit possessive when another man tries and flirts with you. You make me giddy to come back to you. You make me want to show you and everyone else that I love you, no matter who’s looking. You make me happy,” he finished, his voice falling to a whisper, intimate and sweet, one that caused your whole body to shiver.

You blinked away the wetness of your eyes, surprised to find few tears welling up in Steve’s as well.

“Steve… I- I can’t even-- I-“ you stumbled over the thousands of words swirling in your head, not making any sense at all, but humming with overwhelming feeling of adoration.

Apparently, he didn’t mind, because he cleared his throat, easing one of his hands from the tangled mess of limbs in your lap, his fingers sneaking into the pocket of his jeans as he shifted his position a bit, all of sudden taller, face to face with you as he kneeled.

On one knee.

With a box laid on his palm.

A very _distinctively sized_ box.

Your heart stopped, your breath hitching in your throat, your lips parting. For a fraction of second, the only thing that existed was the mesmerizing blue and green of Steve’s eyes, the world falling silent, not even your pulse drumming in your ears; and then it started hammering frantically, filling your eardrums with cotton, muffling Steve’s next words to a barely audible level.

“And…” he granted himself a deep inhale, one lick of his lips as if his mouth suddenly felt a dry as yours. “And you could make me the luckiest man in the world… if you said yes?”

You bit your lower lip with almost enough force to draw blood.

You hand shook as it found Steve’s cheek, fascinated and in utter disbelief at what was happening, what he was… _proposing._

How this disaster of a night turned out like this, bringing the one thing that was so unexpected it nearly caused you vertigo?

Because Steve was there, kneeling in front of you, with a ring, which meant that he wasn’t only reacting to your freak-out, asking out of pity, wishing to reassure you; no, he must have thought about it before, possibly even _planned_ it to happen in a certain time horizon.

“Please, marry me?” he whispered, gulping as you continued just staring at him, too shocked and delighted to form a single word.

But you _had_ _to_. Christ, you _craved to_ ; however, it was so damn difficult to say one syllable that would change your life forever.

How was this happening?

Silence stretched and you could see Steve’s features hardening just a tiny bit, his brows furrowing a millimetre, the pools of his eyes transforming into the most effective and back-stabbing puppy eyes he could pull. 

_As if I were about to say ‘no’ before._

If it was only the spur of the moment, if he went to the nearest vending machine to buy you a ring for a dollar, you might have considered hesitating. But this was clearly something Steve wanted, might have been wanting for a while.

There was never any other option for you. No different answer.

“Yes,” you finally found your voice and Steve’s shoulders fell, his eyelids sliding shut as he let out a sigh of relief and you couldn’t but chuckle, high on giddiness as you repeated the word over and over. “Yes, yes, _yes,_ of course I’ll marry you-“

“Oh thank god,” Steve muttered as you continued your silly monotonous monologue of agreement and he delicately slid a ring on your left hand; a shaky hand. To be fair, his own trembled as well.

And then his lips shut you up as he sealed the deal with a kiss of a century, a kiss sparkling with delight and love, with a promise of a beautiful future; beautiful, because it would belong to the two of you together.

Breathless, you stole a second as you pulled away, meeting Steve’s gaze radiating happiness.

“But are you sure? I can‘t even make a casser-“

 _“Fuck_ Barnes and his casserole, I know what I want from my future wife,” Steve snarled, rising to his full height, swinging you to his arms bridal style with one swift movement, making you shriek and laugh as you quickly steadied yourself by gripping on his shoulder.

He grinned down at you, seemingly endlessly content with you in his arms. Oh, _you_ definitely were.

“And what that might be?” you suggested coyly, high on the electricity of the moment, drunk on the sudden festive atmosphere.

“Right now? I want the two of us to _make_ love…” he growled playfully at you, heading to the bedroom with a swing in his step. “And if you want, we can try to _make_ a baby…” he continued, his tone growing a little menacing once more. “And then I’m gonna go and punch Buck in his face for _making_ my future wife cry. All in the right time…”

“All in the right time,” you echoed drowsily and met Steve’s eager lips halfway to yours.

-.-.- Edited 4th May -.-.-.-

_Bucky looked up from the screen when a knock sounded, the visitor entering without waiting for permission._

_Before he could even think of snapping at them, he noticed the familiar and yet so unfamiliar figure of his best friend, once a wheezing little guy, now a supersoldier who barely fit to the door._

_“Hey Buck!” Steve greeted him with a grin, lifting a plastic bag with a food container. “Brought you something!”_

_Seeing the container, Bucky’s tired form perked up._

_Sustenance! Homecooked, probably. God, yes please._

_Steve chuckled at Bucky’s delighted expression. “What’s that?”_

_“Casserole,” Steve said simply, laying the bag on Bucky’ desk with no regards for the papers scattered there. Any other day, Bucky might have scolded him, but obviously, a homecooked meal had priority. “Leftovers from dinner my fiancée cooked yesterday.”_

_The brunet eagerly opened the container, feasting his eyes on the content, saliva already pooling in his mouth. Ah, so she had listened, she coo-_

_His heart positively stopped when the meaning of Steve’s words finally registered, his head snapping to Steve, who wore a bashful smile on his lips._

_“No shit! Congratulation, man!”_

_Steve’s smile widened a very much visible happy twinkle in his eye and Bucky couldn’t but jump to his feet and pull the blond into a fierce hug, patting his back._

_“My man! You’re such a punk! How did it happen? How did you even-“_

_Steve reciprocated the hug, but shook his head. “We’ll tell everyone, but for now you’re the only one who knows it happened in the first place. Thanks. I gotta run, actually.”_

_“To celebrate, I hope, Steven! Ce-le-brate!”_

_“We did,” Steve uttered with a mischievous grin and at that, Bucky made a face, but patted his shoulder once more. It wasn’t every day his best pal proposed, he could survive that visual for once._

_“I bet you did.”_

_Steve chuckled once more, heading for the door. Bucky, now excited both at his friend’s succces and the food, wiped the coffee spoon from his tea and dug in, parking his backside to his chair once more._

_He felt his lips twist in a scowl at the strange taste, rolling the bite in his mouth, displeased. He noticed Steve hesitating by the door, his eyebrow raised as if expectantly._

_For a moment, Bucky considered lying, but… he didn’t have the heart. Jesus, this was disgusting, he couldn’t possibly let him-_

_Bucky forced himself to swallow before speaking up._

_“Steve… sorry, but this is terrible.”_

_A smirk only describable as fucking cocky spread on the blond’s lips. “I know. Good thing I'm the one marrying her and not you, huh? For me, a good casserole ain’t no dealbreaker!”_

_And with that, Steve left the office, his shoulders shaking with hushed laughter._

_Bucky eyed the food in front of him with distaste, ruminating over Steve’s words._

_“…well-played, Mrs. Rogers. Well-played.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ;) If you enjoyed, please, consider letting me know in any way :)) 
> 
> In other news, I joined the sacred hellhole of **tumblr**. Name’s anika-ann (shocker), feel free to visit. I’ll see how soon I’ll regret my decision and how much time I’ll invest into it, possibly posting my fics there as well.
> 
> Merry Christmas to you all (aka Veselé Vánoce vám všem!)


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